


Into the Cornfield

by Duck_Life



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Family, Gen, Inspired by The Twilight Zone, Twilight Zone References, comedy and horror go hand in hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Sam returns to Cumberland to find it... different. Something sinister (lowercase 's') is going on and he intends to find out what.





	Into the Cornfield

Every morning, Will Soams rides his ten-speed bike through the town of Cumberland, Kentucky, tracing along the same paper route he’s had since he was ten years old. He knows the right angle to toss the newspapers so they land squarely on his neighbors’ front porches. He knows which houses get papers and which don’t and which only get the Sunday edition. 

And he knows, most importantly, to skip the Guthrie farm. 

The Guthries have always been strange, what with the eldest blasting around like a rocket and the second-eldest shedding her skin like a snake. People in Cumberland learned quick that it was better not to interact with the Guthrie muties. 

Of course, there were folks who didn’t listen. Like Raymond Holder, who spent more and more time up at the Guthrie farm, who let his son hang around town with that Jebediah Guthrie, a mutie who could control electricity. Yes, the Guthries were better left alone, and the people of Cumberland did alright for the most part just by leaving them be. 

That’s how things were. It’s not how they are now. These days, the townsfolk find themselves plunged into a waking nightmare. All the worst horrors their imaginations can conjure seem just a whim from being made real. As of late, Cumberland is drenched in paranoia and toxic, wrenching fear coupled with an obligation to act like everything’s fine, to keep everything normal, and most important of all— to think nothing but happy thoughts. Because he can hear what you’re thinking.

This is the chilling environment Sam Guthrie comes home to one autumn afternoon. 

“Hullo, Mr. Graham,” he greets the grocer as he walks up the street. Mr. Graham looks up from sweeping his storefront to eye the eldest Guthrie warily. “How’re things?”

Immediately, Mr. Graham plasters on a wide smile. “Things are good!” he tells Sam. “Very, very good. And… and it’s _ good _ to see you in town, Sammy. Very good. A good thing, to have you back.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam says, returning Mr. Graham’s big smile despite his confusion. _ I must be more popular than I thought _, he thinks to himself as he makes his way down the winding dirt road toward his family farm. 

Usually when Sam returns home, his younger siblings see him coming from the window and run out to greet him. At the very least, Lizzie or Josh gets the door for him. But nobody comes out to say hello. Sam raps on the doors twice before trying to doorknob. It’s not locked. He steps in, only glancing back when the porch light starts to flicker. 

“Hello?” Sam calls. “It’s Sam! Anyone home?”

Silence, at first. And then his mother calls up from the cellar, “Down here!”

Trying to ignore the pit in his stomach, Sam shuts the front door behind him and approaches the cracked cellar door leading from the kitchen to the stairs. “Ma?” he says, walking down the steps. The cellar itself is lit by one bare bulb, but the stairs are in shadow. He keeps a hand on the wall as he descends to keep from tripping over his feet. “What are you doing?”

What she’s doing becomes obvious pretty soon. Mrs. Guthrie is ladling homemade peach jam into a series of jars lined up on the shelf behind her. “Hey there, Sammy,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron so she can give him a hug. “What brings you home?” 

“Oh, um, Cable gave us a long weekend,” he says. “Doesn’t Laura Sanders usually help you with the jam?” 

Her face immediately darkens. “She’s… busy this year,” Mrs. Guthrie explains, sealing a lid securely onto one jar. “But don’t you worry about that. How is school going? Or… sorry, not school. What is it, X-Force?” 

Sam shrugs. The less he tells his mother about his most recent activities, the better. “Same old, same old,” he says, which is only mostly a lie. “Where’re the kids?”

“Let’s see,” she says, counting on her fingers. “Jeb’s sleeping over at the Holders’, Josh is at band practice, Lizzie’s on a date. I think Melody’s upstairs working on homework, and the twins are playing somewhere.” She waves her hand. “Your best bet is tracking down Mel.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning forward to swipe some jam with his fingertips. She swats at him, but not before he gets a taste. “Delicious as always, Ma.”

“Get out of here!” she says, shooing him playfully. Sam takes the cellar stairs two-at-a-time and heads off to find Melody. He finds somebody else first, though.

“Hello, Sam.” Lewis, the youngest of the Guthrie boys, is standing in the kitchen, backlit by the light from the window. “Welcome back.”

“Hey,” Sam says, going to ruffle his little brother’s hair. Something in Lewis’s expression stops him, though. “Everything good?”

“It will be,” Lewis says. “So long as everybody act like they’re s’posed to.” 

“Uh. Right. Okay,” Sam says, backing away without really planning to. The way Lewis is looking at him makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Alrighty, then. I’m gonna go talk to Mel.” 

He walks up the stairs to the second floor fast, trying to ignore the image of Lewis’s creepy expression that’s burned itself into his mind. 

Melody is lying on her floor with a math textbook splayed in front of her. “Heyo,” Sam says, leaning down to flick her ponytail. Melody scowls but then smiles when she sees who it is.

“Sam!” She jumps up and hugs him, kicking her math book under the bed. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“It was kind of last minute,” he admits. “I saw Paigey recently, made me realize how much I missed y’all.” 

“It’s good to see you,” she says, but then her eyes drift down, toward the first floor. “You didn’t happen to… see Lewis, did you?” 

Sam frowns. “Actually, I did,” he says. “What’s… what’s going on with him? Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure,” Melody admits, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s been actin’ _ real strange _ lately. And not just us-strange, you know? _ Strange _ strange. I dunno. Maybe it’s puberty.” 

“Well, you know how puberty goes with folks like us,” he points out. “Speaking of. You wanna go flyin’ later? After dark, of course.”

Melody’s face lights up. “Yeah, that sounds fun,” she says. “I’ve been practicing my turns.” 

“Attagirl,” Sam says, clapping her on the shoulder. “Betcha you’ll be on Gen X with Paige in no time. If… if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want exactly,” she says. “I mean. Right now I mostly just wanna pass Calc, ya know?” 

“I get that,” Sam says. “Listen, if you want help… tough.”

Sam mills around the house and avoids Lewis for the rest of the night. His mom heats up leftovers for him, Cissie and Mel. Lewis stalks in and demands cheeseburgers and Lucinda tells him it’s microwaved meatloaf or nothing. Lewis grumbles something about, “You’ll be sorry” and then stomps off to the backyard. 

“Seriously,” Sam says around a mouthful of meatloaf, “what’s up with him?” 

“Oh, you know,” his mother sighs, pouring herself a glass of wine. “I think the kids at school have been picking on him.”

Cissie and Mel both look doubtful, but they don’t say anything. 

The next morning, Sam is outside getting some fresh air when the mailman arrives. Sam tries to say hi to him and the mailman gives him a pained look as he crams a few letters and bills inside their mailbox. 

“Yes, yes, good morning to you, too, Mr. Guthrie,” the mailman says, flashing a fake smile. “It certainly is a _ good _ morning, yes it is. Is Lewis enjoying it? Is Lewis having a _ good _morning?” 

Sam stares at him. “Not sure. I haven’t seen him yet.” 

The mailman’s eyes are filled with dread, but all he says is, “Oh! I hope he’s… I’m sure he’s doing something good. You know how he loves to… to play in the cornfield.” He grins again, a terribly manic, frantic thing, and peels away so fast he leaves a cloud of dust behind the mail truck. 

“Huh,” Sam says to himself before collecting the mail and carrying it inside. 

He plays checkers with Lizzie and interrogates her about Lewis. “What’s going on with him?” he asks, jumping over a few squares on the board. 

Lizzie sighs theatrically. “Well, _ you know _ ,” she says, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. “He’s like you and Paige. And Mel. And Josh. And _ Jeb _ .” Lizzie oscillates between pride and envy when it comes to being one of the only non-mutants in the family. Sam typically tries to avoid the subject with her. “The thing is, he won’t tell any of us what his stupid powers are. And everyone in town is _ terrified _ of him.”

“What? Why?” 

Lizzie glances around conspiratorially, like Lewis might pop up from behind the couch. “Don’t tell mama,” she says in a low voice, “but Johnny Harrell told me that Lewis got angry at Mr. Graham’s cat and the next thing anyone knew, the cat was _ gone _ . Just gone, disappeared. Nobody could find it. Mr. Graham confronted Lewis about it and Lewis told him that he didn’t like the cat so he sent it to the cornfield. Like, he sent _ its body _ to the cornfield. You know?” 

“Uh-huh,” Sam says, fiddling with a checker. This is all sounding very familiar. “Listen, Liz, I’ll talk t’you later, okay?”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go have a few words with our baby brother.” 

Sam catches Lewis while he’s outside dragging a long stick through the dirt, drawing up imaginary boundaries and borders. He always did have a big imagination. Too bad he’s using it to be a menace. “Heads up,” Sam yells, and then he rockets into Lewis and scoops him up, carrying up upward and away. 

“Put me down!” Lewis hollers.

“‘It’s A _ Good _Life’. Science-fiction short story by Jerome Bixby,” Sam reels off. “Got turned into one of the most popular Twilight Zone episodes of all time. We watched it together, you remember that?” 

Lewis scowls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam says crossly. “What are your mutant powers, Lewis?”

“Wouldn’t _ you _ like to know!” 

“Right. Okay.” He hauls Lewis up to the top of the water tower, holding him by the collar of his shirt the way a cat might grip her kitten by the scruff of its neck. 

“You’d _ better _ put me down,” Lewis says, obviously trying to sound threatening. 

“Or what? You’ll turn me into a jack-in-the-box? Make my head explode?” Lewis glares at him. “Go ahead, bigshot,” Sam says. “You want me to stop? Just wish me into the cornfield.” 

“I will,” Lewis threatens. 

“I’m waiting.” Of course, nothing happens. “Oh, did your omnipotent godlike powers get tired?” Sam sighs and sets Lewis down on top of the water tower, then he sits down next to him. “Lewis. What the hell were you thinkin’?” 

“I just wanted people to listen to me,” Lewis says. “Nobody ever listens to me. I’m, like, seventh wheel. Once people learn Lizzie and Josh’s names it’s like they don’t even bother to learn about the rest of us.”

“Knucklehead, you can’t scare folks into being your friends,” Sam sighs. “Did you do somethin’ to Mr. Graham’s cat?”

Lewis pouts. “That cat was 19 years old, Sam. He wandered off somewhere to die. And then Mr. Graham started putting out LOST CAT flyers and I… I dunno. He was always mean to me, always callin’ me out for ‘loitering’ or whatever. I wanted to get him back. So I let him think that his cat wandering off had somethin’ to do with me.” 

“That’s low, man.”

“It _ worked _ though,” Lewis says, as if that’s going to change Sam’s mind about what he’s been up to. “People paid attention to me. People did what I said. I started getting whatever I wanted from folks in town. It was… _ awesome _.” 

“Did you stop to think about what your little deception was gonna do to folks like Mel and Jeb and Josh? Like _ me _ ? Lewis, mutants are already hated and feared enough. What you’re doing… maybe you think you’re just havin’ fun, but it _ hurts _ people. You’re stirring up feelings that are real dangerous, you know that?” 

“I… I…” For the first time, Lewis looks cowed. “I didn’t think of it that way.” 

“You’re damn right you didn’t think.” Sam tips his head back. The sun is hitting them full-on up here, baking them in the dry heat. “You owe your brothers and sisters an apology.” 

Lewis grumbles and grouches but finally says, “Okay.”

“And you need to apologize to Mr. Graham and everyone else you’ve been pullin’ your little scam on.” 

Lewis balks. “What! Sam, they already think I’m a pest. I don’t want them to think I’m—”

“An overly theatrical liar?” Sam says. “You should’ve thought about that before.” 

“_ Sammmm _.”

“Don’t Sammmm me,” Sam says. “I’ll go with you tomorrow and you can go door to door, making sure everyone knows that you made the whole thing up.” 

“You’re the _ worst _.” 

“Ain’t I?” Sam grins. This time, he does ruffle Lewis’s hair, mussing it up enough to provoke Lewis into sticking his tongue out at him. “Next time you wanna get more involved in your community, Lewis, why don’t you and Cissie open up a lemonade stand?” 

* * *

In the end, Sam winds up carting Lewis back into the house while he sulks. Lucinda is scrubbing stubborn grease off a frying pan when they come in. “Sam? Everything okay?”

“Nope,” Sam says cheerfully. “You know what your son’s been up to?”

Lucinda dries her hands and folds her arms so she can give Lewis the full extent of her stern glare. “Is this about those looks I’ve been gettin’ from Donna down the road? And Mr. Graham? And the mailman?” 

Lewis stares at his feet. “I made up a lie. And… it was wrong. And I’m sorry.” 

Mrs. Guthrie shoots Sam an inquisitive look. “He had this whole town thinkin’ he was some kinda monster. On purpose! So he could scare them all into treating him like a king.” 

“Lewis!” Mrs. Guthrie scolds. “I raised you better than that.” 

“I’m _ sorry _ ,” Lewis groans. “Can I _ please _ go to my room?” 

Sam shrugs and looks at his mom, and she nods. “You’re going to help me jar the jam tomorrow,” she tells Lewis. “And since you fancy yourself some kinda superbeing, you shouldn’t have a problem taking over _ all _ the chores this week.”

“But Ma!”

“No buts. Maybe next time you get a hare-brained scheme you’ll think it through a little better.” Lucinda returns to drying dishes and putting them away while Lewis scurries off to his bedroom to sulk some more and maybe, a little bit, to think about what his actions do to others. Maybe. Probably not, but hope springs eternal. 

“You’re good at that,” Sam points out.

“’Course I am. I raised you, didn’t I?” Mrs. Guthrie says. “And you turned out okay. Not great,” she teases, “but okay.” 

“You know, we’re all gonna feel really silly if Lewis turns out to be an External,” Sam muses.

“A what?”

“Never mind.” 

Sam grabs a towel and helps his mother with the dishes. 


End file.
